2022 Spring Contest Winner: Owed To My Father’s Accent

By Ally Ang

The way the letter “r” rumbles

from the cavern of his throat

through the top of his teeth, gently,

a passing freight train or a faraway 

thunderstorm. The alchemy

of his language: eavesdropped 

becomes ear dropped and flirting

becomes floating. The way he says 

my mother’s name, soft “th” sculpted solid, 

syllables ringing clear like notes

from a gamelan. The way I train my tongue 

to imitate his, words clumsy and labored 

in my impostor mouth. The way the plumber 

shakes my father’s hand and says, I’ll call you

Bill instead. The way my teachers

refuse his gaze as they ask me 

to translate his English into my own.

The way he used to rub my back 

on sleepless nights, his hands cracked 

into tectonic plates. The same hands

that sold churros from a cart on the boardwalk.

Scrubbed grime out of a movie star’s

kitchen sink. Loaded boxes of frozen food

into an eighteen-wheeler truck by moonlight.

The same hands that never learned how to use

chopsticks. The way he has to ask for a fork

when we go to our favorite noodle house. 

The way the waiter says, How spicy 

do you want your food? and my father replies,

Make me cry. The way my father does not speak

while he eats, bent over the bowl

in reverence. The way he taught me

that long noodles signify

a long life, and to cut them

is bad luck. So we slurp them up

so loudly, the whole room 

stops to look.

***

About the author:

Ally Ang is a gaysian poet based in Seattle whose work has been published in Nepantla: An Anthology Dedicated to Queer Poets of Color, The Margins, The Journal, and elsewhere. Ally is the author of the chapbook Monstrosity (Damaged Goods Press 2016) and co-editor of an anthology of Southeast Asian art and writing titled All the Oils: On Friendship, Sex, and Other Warmths (Ginger Bug Press 2021). Their work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Bettering American Poetry.

Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons